I know more than I can express in words, and the little I can express would not have been expressed, had I not known more.

Time is rhythm: the insect rhythm of a warm humid night, brain ripple, breathing, the drum in my temple—these are our faithful timekeepers; and reason corrects the feverish beat.

Resemblances are the shadows of differences. Different people see different similarities and similar differences.

I grew, a happy, healthy child in a bright world of illustrated books, clean sand, orange trees, friendly dogs, sea vistas and smiling faces.

It is strange that the tactile sense, which is so infinitely less precious to men than sight, becomes at critical moments our main, if not only, handle to reality.

There he stood, in the camouflage of sun and shade, disfigured by them and masked by his own nakedness.

Coordinating there Events and objects with remote events And vanished objects. Making ornaments Of accidents and possibilities.